A Job You Mostly Won’t Know How to Do by Pete Fromm

A Job You Mostly Won't Know How to Do

A Job You Mostly Won’t Know How to Do by Pete Fromm
English | 2019 | General Fiction | ePUB |1.8 Mb

A Job You Mostly Won’t Know How to Do :Five-time winner of the Pacific Northwest Bookseller Award Pete Fromm joins Counterpoint with his big-hearted new novel, a love story about family full of hope and resiliency and second chances

A taciturn carpenter has been too busy putting the final details on others’ homes to pay much attention to his own fixer-upper. But when his wife becomes pregnant with their first child, he realizes he’ll need to apply his art closer to home. For Taz and Marnie, their dreams are coming into focus, sustained by their deep sense of love and now family.

The blueprint for the perfect life eludes Taz, plummeting him head first in the new strange world of fatherhood, of responsibility and late nights and unexpected joy and sorrow. It is a deceptively small novel with a very big heart.

Over eleven books and over twenty years, Pete Fromm has become one of the west’s literary legends. A Job You Mostly Won’t Know How To Do beautifully captures people who, isolated by land and by their actions, end up building a life that is both expected and brave.

“They break apart, in no hurry, Taz still staggered.

“You could get a room, you know,” Rudy says.

“We may have to,” Taz answers, but Marnie pulls him back, whispers in his ear. “Clam up,” she says. “Until it’s safe.”

Taz nods, but safe? Seriously? He wants to say, Nothing is ever going to be safe again. But he keeps nodding, turns toward Rudy, and says, “You brought beer?”

Rudy shoots him a wtf? Says, “From your fridge. Want one?”

Marnie shakes her head, and just catching it, Taz does, too.

Rudy raises an eyebrow, glances for a watch he doesn’t own. “It is Saturday, isn’t it?” he says. “I mean, I know I’m late, but not that late, right?”

“No, it’s still Saturday,” Taz says.

Rudy takes a swig, lifts his bar. “Well, okay then, suit yourselves. Just show me what you need wrecked.”

“Demoed,” Taz corrects.

“Whatever you want to call it.” He stabs the end of the bar into the wall, breaking the plaster, pulling down the next few pieces of lath.”



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